


a beginning ends what an end begins

by andibeth82



Category: Hawkeye (Comics)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Different First Meeting, Diners, F/M, Kate is figuring herself out, She just needs a little bit of help
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-29
Updated: 2016-12-29
Packaged: 2018-09-13 04:38:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,600
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9106933
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/andibeth82/pseuds/andibeth82
Summary: “Hey there, girlie-girl.”Kate lets the door bang shut behind her before she registers the face attached to the voice, the man leaning across the counter, who wipes his hands with a dirty dish cloth before spreading his arms on the table. And Jesus Christ, god help her, but he is attractive. Like, attractive enough that Kate’s stomach flops around uncontrollably and she’s pretty sure she needs to scrape her jaw off the floor in a comical way, because people that look this good didnotwork at places like these. She somehow manages to make her voice work, despite the shock to her system.“Hey yourself. Where’s a good place to get a cup of coffee around here?”





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ruffboi](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ruffboi/gifts).



> Alternate Universe in the sense that Kate and Clint aren't Hawkeye and Hawkeye, but they still have all their baggage -- and still manage to find each other in their respective lives. Based on a compilation of prompts, but this is mostly a romp of fun meetcutes and trope love. Hope you enjoy! 
> 
> Thanks to gecko, as always, for beta.

As far as Kate is concerned, the only good thing about being on her own is freedom.

And, well. Kate grew up with a dad that, when he wasn’t acting out, basically forgot she existed half the time, so freedom isn’t anything new. But _freedom_ is. _Freedom_ is what she thinks when she rolls into the small California beach town, the rows of otherwise unassuming shops looking deserted and a little lonely in the wake of larger, more populated places she had gotten used to seeing during her drive.

It’s probably the most abandoned area compared to the hustle and bustle of New York, but to Kate, it looks like the most charming place in the world.

There’s one diner that she can see, a hole-in-the-wall establishment that clearly looks like it’s had multiple paint jobs just to keep it from looking decrepit. And if it wasn’t for the presence of a sleepy-looking man in a drab coat heading inside, she might’ve thought it was closed for business altogether. There’s also a blinking and rather gaudy neon sign that practically screams KATE BISHOP WOULD LIKE THIS PLACE, so she pulls up at the first open spot she sees and crookedly parallel parks her _technically_ falling apart jeep. Another one of her fathers’ gifts, and sure, it was barely drivable, but it was at least something from him that didn’t come with a bandage.

Kate gets out of the car, checks that her doors are all locked, and checks her reflection quickly in the mirror, mostly to make sure she’s not looking like utter death after driving for so many hours. In all honesty, the diner doesn’t look like somewhere she could eat and not die of food poisoning, but she figures maybe she can get some coffee to keep her awake for the rest of her drive. Where she was driving to, _that_ remained to be seen – she was supposed to meet up with America and Cassie in New Mexico per their latest letters, but somehow, she had found herself bypassing the state altogether on her cross-country road trip.

“Hey there, girlie-girl.”

Kate lets the door bang shut behind her before she registers the face attached to the voice, the man leaning across the counter, who wipes his hands with a dirty dish cloth before spreading his arms on the table. And Jesus Christ, god help her, but he is _attractive_. Like, attractive enough that Kate’s stomach flops around uncontrollably and she’s pretty sure she needs to scrape her jaw off the floor in a comical way, because people that look this good did _not_ work at places like these. She somehow manages to make her voice work, despite the shock to her system.

“Hey yourself. Where’s a good place to get a cup of coffee around here?”

The man’s face twists into a smirk. He looks boyish, but Kate has a feeling he’s older than his appearance projects.

“You tell me,” he says, turning around and grabbing a pot off the burner. He dumps a healthy amount of brewed grounds into a chipped porcelain cup, letting it slosh over the side. Kate picks up the cup and then puts it down immediately, shoving it back towards him.

“That’s decaf,” she says disdainfully, crossing her arms over her chest. The man leans back against the cash register, eyeing her with unnerving scrutiny.

“Impressive,” he says, before placing another cup on the table. Kate doesn’t even have to smell it this time to know it’s the regular stuff; she picks it up and inhales half of it without thinking.

“Is that the way you test all your new customers?”

“Nah,” the man says, shaking his head, and Kate catches a glimpse of what looks like a hearing aid when the hair around his ear moves. “You asked where to get good coffee. I thought I’d let you decide.”

“And what if I decided it wasn’t good and walked out?” Kate challenges, raising an eyebrow. The man shrugs.

“Then I’m out two and a half dollars for the day,” he replies, untying his apron. “I’m Clint, by the way.”

“Clint.” She tries out the name on her tongue, decides that she likes it okay. “I’m Kate.”

“Kate.” He regards her carefully. “Just passing through?”

“Kind of,” she admits. There’s an air about him that she finds appealing, and she can’t figure out why; some measure of indifference mixed with a significant amount of confidence that, all things considered, makes him intriguing. It was certainly refreshing; all the people in her life spent their days walking on eggshells, building up so many walls that projected that they were _fine_ , except Kate knew that they had more issues than they would ever let on.

“Well, in that case.” He takes the coffee pot again, moving it to the countertop. “Refills are on the house.”

“Refills are _always_ on the house,” Kate remarks, pulling at her hair until it tumbles out of its messy bun. “Unless you serve some pretentious gourmet crap.”

“So it would seem.” Clint goes back to flipping what looks like a pancake, though Kate can’t really see the grill well enough to make sure. Her suspicions are more or less confirmed when a plate appears in front of her with a helpless looking blob of what might have been batter at one point, along with a heaping of potatoes and two small strips of bacon.

“Are the pancakes on the house, too?”

“Depends,” he answers. “Are they good?”

Kate takes a bite. They’re terrible, but hell if she’s going to waste a chance to take him up on a free meal when she barely has any money to begin with.

“They’re okay,” she lies, taking another gulp of coffee to wash down the taste.

“You’re killing it today, Katie-Kate.” Clint cracks another grin, and for some reason, she can read it in his tone: _you’re totally lying._

“Glad to be able to provide you amusement.” She leans her elbows on the counter and nods towards the walls. “So what’s with the falling apart décor? You trying to get a spot on _Homewreckers_ or something?”

Clint laughs. “Nah. Adds to the charm. Mostly, I just haven’t scraped together enough to fix it up.”

“Oh.” Kate continues to eat, even though every bite tastes like cardboard. And not even good, slightly edible cardboard. It tastes like terrible, tasteless, chewy cardboard.

“Your food is shitty,” she says finally, unable to suck it up anymore, and Clint laughs again, his loud chuckle echoing through the mostly-empty diner.

“Yeah, it is. Don’t worry. You’re not the first pretty girl to tell me that.”

And then, that’s it -- the bar is lifted. Somehow, the conversation goes from something resembling casual flirting to _better step it up, Katie, because this could either end up being a really good quickie or one of those stories where you end up dead in an oven with your body parts rotting away, like some Hansel and Gretel type shit._ Clint’s smiling, his face a delightful show of ease despite the fact that when he slides into a resting face, he does somewhat resemble a murderer.

“Hey, while I’m here….do you, uh, have a bathroom I could use?”

Clint raises an eyebrow. “Seriously?”

“Well, I don’t know,” Kate huffs. “The place looks like it came right out of one of those horror films where you turn off the wrong road and end up in Shitsville or something.”

Clint rolls his eyes, but jerks his thumb towards the back. “Second door on the left. It’s unmarked, but I think you’ll figure it out.”

“I _do_ know what a toilet looks like,” Kate says dryly, swinging her legs off the stool. She does need to actually pee, it’s been a long car ride and the coffee she’s just ingested hasn’t helped any. But moreso, she needs to get away before she let her thoughts get the best of her.

See, that’s the thing about freedom. Kate loves it. Kate would choose freedom over being stuck under any kind of regime in a second. But freedom means Kate can have her own thoughts, and no one’s going to tell her that she can’t think about fucking the really attractive guy manning a small shitty diner in a beach town that looks like it’s so off the beaten path it might as well be in another dimension –

– and then there’s a knock, and Kate’s lifted out of her thoughts, and when she opens the door to the bathroom the really attractive guy is standing on the other side, holding up a roll of toilet paper with a sheepish look.

 “Um.” He gestures towards her lamely. “I realized there wasn’t any in there.”

“Oh.” Kate looks down, because she actually _hadn’t_ realized – not that she had gone to the bathroom with the intention of actually peeing right away, but he didn’t need to know that.

“Yeah.” Clint looks embarrassed, and Kate wonders if there’s more to his kind gesture than meets the eye. “Anyway, um. Sorry.”

Kate stares at him for a moment, blue eyes meeting ones that are a different, darker shade, and she thinks – she actually _thinks_ for once, which she’s pretty sure is an anomaly in any kind of life she’s ever made for herself – and then pulls him in roughly. It’s a gamble, because there had only been a hint of interest in his face when she had smiled before, but it was a look Kate was well accustomed to noticing in men. She hadn’t grown up in a world of socialites for nothing, and she also hadn’t walked in on various rich people having sex in closets during her fathers’ parties for nothing.

Kate holds him against her for a moment, their faces barely touching, and then he looks down and gives her a ghost of a grin. She decides to venture a little further, throw the net out a little more, and she brings him in even closer until their bodies are pressed against each other. She tips her head up to meet his lips and almost immediately, she can feel his dick hardening against her thighs.

 _Well, then_.

The fact that he’s already hard makes her feel better when she sticks her tongue down his throat. He kisses her back, his hands moving down her shoulders and back, and she rises up on her toes to meet his height, pushing slightly. His hands find purchase on her ass, and _damn_ , he’s got a nice grip.

Definitely has a side project of some kind, Kate thinks dizzily as she keeps kissing him, shivering as his sharp fingers dig into her skin. Something that keeps his fingers this flexible. Piano playing, maybe. Tennis? Archery, even, if anyone still did that kind of thing outside of a circus or a summer camp. As Kate continues to kiss Clint and Clint continues to kiss Kate, pushing down the top of her shirt so he can get to her breasts more easily, Kate realizes these four things:

 

She doesn’t know how old he is (older than her, for sure, but maybe not _that_ much older).

She doesn’t know if he has a girlfriend (could go either way, he was flirty but also cautious).

She doesn’t know if he’s some sort of creepy loner looking to date rape the first cute girl that gives him the time of day (anyone who was this earnest about food that wasn’t good was probably actually trying to make a living).

She doesn’t know if he’s got any condoms but she really wants to finish this (he seems like the type who would have a stash behind the counter, but what does she know).

 

At any rate, Kate’s breathing hard when she pulls away, her bottom lip wet and swollen from where Clint’s sucked continuously at it. Clint is looking at her dazedly; the toilet paper roll is lying on its side on the floor, where he had dropped it once he started kissing her. Kate lets her lips fold up in a coy smile.

“Do you wanna take this to another level –”

“Jesus, no!”

Kate raises an eyebrow, because, well, maybe she read this wrong after all even though she doesn’t see how she could have. “Okaaaaaaaay,” she says, drawing out the last word.

“No, I mean…” Clint runs a hand through his hair, clearly flustered. “This bathroom…I don’t even want to know what’s been in here. Or on that floor. There’s probably STDs lying around.”

“Oh.” Kate steps back, trying not to look at the way his dick is straining against his jeans. She doesn’t bother to remind him that STDs can’t survive outside of the body because the place _does_ look pretty gross. “What do you suggest, then?” She smirks, which is enough to make him bite down on his lip, and enough to make her realize that his lower body isn’t the only thing reacting involuntarily.

“I’d invite you back to my place, but, um, it’s kind of –”

“Like your diner?”

Clint nods and laughs. “Yeah. Basically.”

(Kate’s not going to break down any walls and tell him that after living in places where everything was nicer than the casinos in Monte Carlo, it was a fucking relief to be somewhere that fit her aesthetic – something more homey, more human, something falling apart that didn’t mind all its rough edges showing.)

So she says, “that sounds nice,” with a smile, and Clint tentatively smiles back.

 

* * *

 

 

The beach town is small, but Kate could have told you that from her short drive through it. There wasn’t much to the boardwalk aside from a few sad little shops, an ice cream place, and Clint’s diner, which was really off the beaten path anyway. Kate finds it all kind of charming, in a randomly odd, endearing way that she figures most people wouldn’t. Clint’s apartment is even more off the beaten path, about four miles from his work, and Kate is both impressed and a little concerned he makes the walk alone every day, especially when it’s dark out.

“So, what do you do here other than make shitty food?” Kate asks as Clint slides the key into the lock of the door on his five floor walk-up.

Clint shrugs, letting her in. “Read. Work out. Sometimes, when it’s nice, I walk down by the boardwalk. There aren’t usually too many tourists around here.”

“No shit,” Kate mutters as she walks inside. She’s immediately greeted by a large Labrador, who bounds towards her and practically knocks her over in excitement.

“Holy futz, you have a _dog_?”

“Oh. Yeah, I kind of forgot to mention – you’re not allergic, are you?” He suddenly looks worried. “I mean, I can take him out, my neighbor can get him –”

“Nah,” Kate says, kneeling down to scratch the yellow mutt behind one of his floppy ears. “Just didn’t expect you to have a dog, I guess. He’s cute. What’s his name?”

Clint hesitates. “Lucky.”

Kate raises an eyebrow. “That’s…specific. And random.” But what did she know, she once had a cat named Buster, because that’s what her dad thought all high-profile pets should be named, so maybe she shouldn’t be so judgmental.

“Yeah, I know it’s super cheesy, but it fits,” Clint says, running a hand through his hair. “I, uh. Well, I hit a really low point a few months ago. Pretty sure I would’ve just thrown myself off a cliff or something if I hadn’t come across him – he’d been abandoned by a previous owner and was barely able to walk when I found him. If you’re wondering why I live and work in a shithole,” he finishes, his eyes downcast, and suddenly Kate feels a pang of guilt for being so glib about his finances.

“I once brought a turtle home,” she offers. “I found him on the side of the road near my home. He would’ve been hit by a car or one of those city dumb bikes if I hadn’t rescued him. I named him Greg. I guess I wasn’t that creative with names.”

Clint snorts under his breath, but Kate can detect a small smile that he’s trying to hide. “Hey, so, what brought you down here anyway?”

“I told you,” Kate says, waving a hand around. “I was trying to find a good cup of coffee.”

“Uh huh.” Clint raises an eyebrow and Kate sighs, getting up and giving Lucky one more pat.

“I’m supposed to meet up with a few of my friends who are in New Mexico,” she admits. “I guess I got a little sidetracked.”

“Yeah, California’s really on the way to New Mexico,” Clint says with a knowing hint of _you’re full of shit_ in his voice. Kate thinks fast to avoid having to talk more about something she’s not really sure she wants to think about. After all, she could’ve been in New Mexico four days ago if she wanted to. And for some reason, she wasn’t. She was in a random abandoned beach town and seriously contemplating spending more than twenty-four hours here.

“Hey, I saw an ice cream shop. Is it any good?”

Clint looks startled by her sudden change of topic. “Yeah, I guess.”

“Cool. So why don’t we take Lucky for a walk and check it out? Sell me on this beach town that looks like it fell out of some Neil Gaiman novel. Besides, I need something to wash down those pancakes.”

Clint smiles faintly. “I thought, uh…I mean, I did like where we left off,” he says hesitantly, and Kate grins.

“Me too. And look, I’m totally into kissing and, you know, doing other stuff to you in this place. It’s a lot nicer than that bathroom. But talking is good, too, so let’s get some ice cream first, yeah?”

Clint smiles wider. “Yeah. Okay, yeah.”

 

* * *

 

 

It happens like this: Clint and Kate get ice cream, and Lucky licks all the dripping chocolate off of their hands and pants, and Kate leans a little too close to Clint and wipes chocolate off of his mouth with her thumb, trailing the pads of her fingers over his lips.

It happens like this: While walking along the boardwalk, Clint leans a little too close to Kate and puts his arm around her waist, his fingers resting on her skin. It feels like a calming balm she’s never been able to find.

It happens like this: In the middle of sex, America sends a group text to her and Cassie, all capital letters asking KATE WHERE THE FUCK ARE YOU WE’RE WAITING. Kate waits until they’ve both come and then and sends back a bullshit answer about sleep and traffic before falling asleep on Clint’s chest.

It happens like this: Four days later, Kate’s sleeping in Clint’s bed and wearing his clothes around the apartment, while Lucky jumps on her as she makes morning coffee after he’s gone off to work.

They know it won’t last – they do -- but maybe that’s why they’re so comfortable with each other, as if they’ve found the one thing they’ve been looking for to tide them over and make them feel like they’re worth something to the world, just for now.

 

* * *

 

 

“Up, baby. Come on, get up.”

Kate’s about to groan and slap the face on the other end of the voice who is fucking babying her – terms of endearments were never, ever her thing, blame her dad for that – but then the mattress on the bed bounces underneath her and a fluffy tail brushes against her face, and she realizes that Lucky is bounding off the bed and into the kitchen.

“I thought you were talking to me,” she mumbles into the pillow, not opening her eyes. The bed is warm and the sheets are damp, and when she breathes it smells like the sex they’d had the night before.

Clint laughs somewhere above her. “Hell, no. Something tells me you’re not the type to be coddled.”

“You’d be right.” Kate finally sits up, pulling the blanket around her naked body, and inclines her head with a squint. There are barely any windows in the apartment except for the small skylight in the living room, but she guesses based on Lucky’s enthusiasm that it’s probably around six in the morning. She gets out of bed and puts on her bra, then grabs one of his flannel shirts.

“You don’t mind, do you?”

Clint looks confused. “Of course not.”

“Thanks,” Kate says with a smile, buttoning it up. “If you’re okay with giving me an address, I can send it back to you when I get to a post office or something.”

“Oh.” Clint’s face falls just a little. “I didn’t – I mean, I guess I did –”

“Yeah,” Kate interrupts, because suddenly it’s awkward, this stopover in a beach town that wasn’t supposed to amount to anything other than bad coffee from a cute guy who manned a gross diner. Part of her thinks she probably should’ve thought of that before she ambushed him in the bathroom that day, but _he_ hadn’t stopped this either, so really…

Well, really, it’s neither of their faults. But then, it’s not his fault he probably can’t jet away from his diner beach life and not her fault that she’s a confused loner who can’t figure out why it’s so hard for her to settle down, even though she’s supposed to be starting a new life with two people who know her better than anyone.

“How will I know how to find you?”

Kate smirks and picks up her jeans, leaning over to kiss him. “I’ll send a postcard. After coffee, obviously.”

 

* * *

 

 

After coffee turns into after lunch, which turns into after dinner. Kate’s not an idiot, she knows she should leave before things go too far and she gets too invested (who is she kidding, she’s already invested) and she knows she’s drawing out her time with Clint a lot more than she needs to. She lounges around his apartment while he does his morning errands, she takes Lucky for a walk, she helps Clint take out the trash before he goes to work his overnight shift at the diner.

“You sure you don’t wanna drive off into the sunset with me?” Clint asks when Kate offers to drop him at work off on her way out of town. “We could Bonnie and Clyde it.”

“Yeah, no,” Kate says sardonically as she backs the car into the street. “I’ve heard that one before. I always end up as the girl just because.”

“Are you kidding?” Clint raises an eyebrow. “I’d be Bonnie, you’d be Clyde. Besides, we both die in the end anyway.”

“I’ll consider it, then,” Kate says, stepping on the gas pedal and driving the short distance to the diner. “First and only stop, partner.”

Clint looks up at his restaurant, and then back at Kate. “So, you’re just gonna disappear when I’m not looking?” He looks like he doesn’t want to get out of the car and Kate can’t blame him, she doesn’t want him to leave, either.

But she can’t do this. Not right now. Not when she’s still trying to figure out who the hell Katie Katherine Bishop really is, outside of her rich parents and friends that want her to start a new life away from everything she’s grown up knowing.

“I tend to do that,” Kate admits, twirling a lock of dark brown around her finger. She moves her sunglasses up her forehead, letting them nest in her hair. Clint suddenly looks interested, as if her words have made him remember something.

“Hey, before you disappear or whatever – can you just hold on quick? I wanna get something from the diner for you.”

“Oh god, it’s not more of your gross cooking, is it?” Kate deadpans as Clint kisses her and gets out of the car. She leans back in the driver’s seat, closing her eyes and taking in the warm breeze and salty sea air that seems to embed itself in her skin. In less than two minutes, Clint is back, grabbing her sunglasses off her head.

“Hey!” Kate’s eyes fly open and she swipes for them, before realizing there’s a thick piece of cardstock that’s been dropped into her lap. She turns it over, puzzled to find that it’s a postcard with a strange looking arrow on its glossy front, and a filled in address of what she assumes is Clint’s apartment on the back, along with a stamp.

“What’s this?” she asks, even though she knows the answer is pretty obvious. She vaguely remembers seeing a pathetic display of postcards near the door of the diner.

“You said you’d send a postcard,” Clint says when she doesn’t say anything. “So, there. I’m making the first move. Send me a postcard. I mean, when you wanna. If you ever get to New Mexico.” He smiles as she looks up, and Kate smiles back, something warm spreading through her belly.

“Kind of an interesting postcard. What’s this thing?” She points to the picture of arrow, thinking back to their first meeting and wondering if she had been right after all in her ridiculous thinking. Maybe he really _did_ do archery or something.

“Boomerang arrow.”

Kate snorts. “Boomerang arrow? What, you use them or something?”

“No,” Clint says, nodding towards the card. “I just liked the design. And according to what I’ve read, it’s supposed to be kind of special.”

Kate arches a brow. “Special, huh?”

Clint nods. “Yeah. Boomerang arrow – it comes back to you, in the end.”

Kate looks down at her lap and bites her lip, trying to stop the blush and smile from taking over her face.

 “Well. That’s both ominous and sweet.”

“It fits the bill, so I thought you might like it.” Clint leans over and threads his finger through her hair, dropping the sunglasses back in her lap. And then he’s kissing her, and _goddamn_ if it doesn’t feel like the first time all over again, sensual and exciting and warm and passionate. She has to physically force herself to pull away when he breaks off for air.

“Better go,” Clint says reluctantly, though Kate can tell he clearly doesn’t want to say the words. He’s basically ripping the band aid off, the sooner they can end this – whatever _this_ is – the better, so it’s less painful for both of them. “If you stay any longer, I might make those gross pancakes again.”

Kate laughs, and tucks the postcard into glove compartment. “You’ve made your point.”

She doesn’t say goodbye before she leaves. He doesn’t say goodbye, either. He just smiles a little sadly and waves and she drives off, forcing herself not to look back or look in the rearview mirror until she’s at least ten miles from the beach town and back on the winding California roads.

She wants to stay. Clint _makes_ her want to stay, which is strange, since she barely knows him. But Kate knows she needs to find out who Kate is, first, before Kate can be a part of someone else. She pulls over at the first rest stop she sees that’s far enough away, and texts Cassie and America that she’s on her way. Maybe America and Cassie could accept a guy into their life, if he ever wanted to get out of California. Maybe, if anything, she could just come back. Besides, what was it Clint had said about boomerang arrows?

Right. It comes back to you, in the end.

**Author's Note:**

> Find me on [tumblr](http://isjustprogress.tumblr.com).


End file.
